-Ban, palace of Banal – October 7335-
The dinner at the palace of Banal was a weekly event, where the nobles of the six islands gathered to eat, drink, and exchange favours disguised as conversation. The long tables, covered with white linen cloths, bent under the weight of silver and crystal. The smell of roast meat, spices, and tropical flowers filled the air.
Zirinos sat beside Luna, in the seat farthest from the king – a position that did not hide his reluctance to be there. He wore dark, simple clothes that contrasted with the golden silks and colourful embroidery of the local nobles. His gold-and-blood hair shone in the candlelight, and his eyes scanned the room with a calmness that hid tension.
"You're tense," Luna murmured, touching his arm.
"I'm fed up."
"Of what?"
"Of the clothes. The colours. The smell."
"The smell is of flowers."
"It smells of lies."
Luna did not answer. She just squeezed his hand under the table.
---
King Zayan presided at the head, dressed in a beige and gold tunic – the same combination of colours that Zirinos had begun to hate with an intensity he could not explain. The wide sleeves, the spiral embroidery, the golden belt. Everything about him reminded him of the masked man.
*Ether*, thought Zirinos. *The man who imprisoned me. The man who sent me to this world. The man whose clothes were as beige and as golden as these.*
He gripped his wine glass so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Zirinos," called Zayan, with his affable smile. "My nobles speak wonders of your hunts. They say you killed an iron-cru spider alone."
"They say."
"And the banished worm? They say you faced it on the island of Wuqes."
"Also."
"You are a hero, Zirinos. Heroes should be celebrated. Not walking around with sour faces."
"Tired heroes have sour faces. That's the price of fame."
The nobles laughed. Zayan did too. But the king's eyes, behind the smile, were attentive.
"Is the hero tired?" asked Magnus Troydís, seated to the king's right. "Or just bored?"
"Bored." Zirinos drank his wine in one gulp. "Of you. Of your clothes. Of your colours."
Silence fell over the table.
"Our colours?" Magnus raised an eyebrow. "Beige and gold are the colours of Ban. They represent sand and gold. Desert and wealth."
"They represent hypocrisy."
"How so?"
"You dress in sand to appear humble. You adorn yourselves with gold to show power. You want to be two things at once. You can't."
The tension increased. The nobles exchanged glances. Luna squeezed Zirinos's hand under the table, but he did not let go.
"Zirinos," Zayan intervened, his voice still calm, "if our colours offend you, we can change the subject."
"Not the colours. The hypocrisy."
"And what is the hypocrisy?"
"That of all of you." Zirinos stood up. The chair scraped the stone floor. "You speak of helping Lunos. Of fighting the Krakeriar. Of saving innocents. But you are only moved by self-interest. Profit. Trade."
"Trade feeds our people," Zayan replied. "It is not hypocrisy. It is survival."
"Survival at the expense of others' hunger? Your people still starve, Zayan. And you eat roast meat on silver platters."
The king's name, spoken without a title, made the nobles blush. Magnus narrowed his eyes.
"You forget who you are speaking to," said the duke.
"I speak to a man who dresses in lies." Zirinos pointed at Zayan's tunic. "Beige and gold. Sand and gold. Humility and power. You cannot serve two masters."
"And whom do you serve?" asked Zayan, his voice now cold.
"Myself. And death."
The silence was total. The candles crackled. The servants, motionless, held their trays not knowing whether to serve.
"I think," said Zayan slowly, "that the hero needs to rest. The journey was long. Emotions are high."
"I don't need rest. I need answers."
"What answers?"
"How many soldiers will you give me? How many ships? How many weapons?"
"I have already answered. Whatever is necessary, after the Krakeriar."
"After is too late. The dead do not wait."
"The living do not either."
Zirinos looked at Zayan. The king's eyes, once affable, were now hard as stone.
"You don't trust me," said Zirinos.
"I trust that you kill monsters. I trust that you are useful. I trust that you are dangerous. The rest… the rest is conversation."
"Then I have talked too much."
Zirinos turned. Luna also stood up, pale.
"Zirinos…" she began.
"Let's go. I am not welcome here."
"You were not invited to stay," Zayan replied. "You were invited to help."
"I will help. But I will not stay."
He left the hall without looking back. Luna followed him. The guards Sanderá and Erlan, who were at the door, accompanied them.
The nobles remained in silence, staring at the empty place.
Magnus leaned toward Zayan.
"It was a mistake to let him go."
"It was a mistake to let him come," the king replied, drinking his wine. "But mistakes also teach."
"What do they teach?"
"That heroes are like storms. They pass. And leave destruction behind."
---
In the corridor, Zirinos walked quickly.
"Zirinos!" Luna ran to catch up. "What was that? Why did you provoke him?"
"I didn't provoke. I told the truth."
"The truth is not told like that. In front of everyone. To the king."
"The truth is told where it hurts most."
"And what did you gain from this?"
Zirinos stopped. He turned. His eyes were dark, tired, but there was a gleam in them that Luna did not recognise.
"The nobles saw," he said. "They saw that I am not a friend of the king. That I am not in Zayan's service. That I am free."
"And is that good?"
"It is. Because now they will speak to me. In private. They will offer me alliances. They will swear loyalty. And I will accept."
"Will you lie?"
"I will promise. It's different."
"It's not." Luna squeezed his hand. "It's the same."
"Then it is." He freed himself. "But it's what I have."
He walked toward the palace exit. Luna stood watching him, her eyes moist.
"Zirinos…" she called.
"Yes?"
"Are you still my friend?"
He stopped. He did not turn.
"I am." His voice faltered for a second. "The only one you have."
"And you? Do you have anyone?"
"I have Mira. And I have you."
"Is that enough?"
"It is."
They left the palace. The night was warm, the sky full of stars.
Outside, the desert shone.
---
In the inn room, already late, Zirinos drank wine. The third glass. The fourth. The fifth.
Luna, sitting on the bed, looked at him without knowing what to say.
"Zirinos," she called after a long time.
"Yes?"
"Who hurt you? Who hurt you so much?"
"Many. Long ago."
"And you hurt others?"
"Many. Not long ago."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to. Because I liked it. Because I don't know how to do otherwise."
"You know. You choose not to know."
He did not answer. He just drank.
Luna stood up, approached, and took the glass from his hand.
"Enough."
"No."
"Enough." She sat beside him. "Talk to me. Not to the wine."
"The wine doesn't judge."
"I don't either."
He looked at her. His dark, blurred eyes fixed on her light ones.
"You killed Dacius." Her voice was low, trembling. "You killed him because of me."
"I killed him."
"Why?"
"Because he was going to touch you. Because he looked at you as if you were his. Because…"
"Because?"
"Because I am jealous."
Silence settled. The wind outside carried the smell of sand and salt.
"Jealous of what?" asked Luna. "I am not yours."
"I know."
"I don't belong to you."
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because…" He hesitated. "Because you are the only person who doesn't want anything from me. And that… that is rare."
Luna touched his face. Her cold fingers, light.
"I don't want anything from you, Zirinos. I wish you well. It's different."
"It is."
"And is that enough?"
"It is."
She withdrew her hand.
"Sleep. Tomorrow we have a boat to catch."
"I don't want to sleep."
"You need to."
"I don't want to."
"You need to."
She blew out the candle.
The room went dark.
Outside, the desert shone.